The Whore and The Gentleman
by Touchstone67
Summary: Sequel to M&A. Riley is on the road to recovery, but can he overcome his addiction, his past, and his loss of Jasper to discover that hookers can find their Prince too? R/P slash. Rated M for...everything.


**Disclaimer: S. Myer owns all, but what I wouldn't give for a Jasper of my very own-sigh.**

A/N- I know this story has been promised for a few months now, and this chapter has been done for most of it, but I was focusing on getting WN further along, which will be up soon. Riley just wouldn't shut up and really wanted out…so here he is.

This chapter is unbeta'd, all mistakes, grammatical and otherwise are my own.

Huge thank you to Dannie, who has listened to hours of plot ideas and indecisions. This story wouldn't be here without her.

Warning: this story will contain dark themes, including drug use and homelessness.

"**~~**"

"So this is it, huh?"

Standing just inside the doorway of the huge room, I let my duffle bag slide down my arm to the floor. It was easily the nicest bedroom I'd ever been in, including my parent's house. Even nicer than my room at rehab. Inhaling deeply, I swear I could smell the remains of his scent. I had slept next to it long enough that a few weeks away from it wasn't going to make me forget. Nothing would ever make me forget.

"Was this Jasper's room?" I asked, glancing at him over my shoulder.

He was still dressed in the clothes he'd picked me up in a few hours earlier, well-fitting jeans and a thin sweater with a tee shirt underneath. He didn't reply, but I could tell by the pain that flashed in his eyes I was right. I usually was.

The room was painted a dark maroon with two big windows on one wall. To the left of the doorway was a large bed covered in gray blankets and a fucking lot of pillows. How many did he think I needed? I only had one head. Well, two if you wanted to get technical, but I didn't need a pillow for the second one. Scanning the room, I noticed table by the bed with a lamp, a plush chair in the corner and a dresser with a large TV on it opposite the bed. There were two doors, I assumed one was a closet, but I pointed to the other.

"Bathroom," he answered my silent question and then asked one of his own. "Is it okay?"

Nodding, I just stood there, fucking stood there, a little dumbfounded at how I'd ended up in such a nice place. I was a homeless whore, what the hell was I doing in the spare room of some guy's mansion?

He was a few feet behind me. Even if I hadn't known he was already there, I could feel him. Something I'd learned long ago, always know who was around you. But it was different with him. Having him behind me felt different than it did when anyone else did it. Even though I was looking around my new room, I knew he shifted his weight from right to left, I knew one hand came out of his pocket but quickly returned, and I knew his head was tilted to the side as he studied me. I didn't bother turning around to confirm if I was right, I just knew I was.

Sighing, I took a step further into the room. It wasn't a sad sigh. It was more resigned. This was my life now, down blankets and silk sheets, designer clothes and fancy smelling shampoos. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed the good things as much as anyone, probably more because I appreciated the shit most people didn't, but regardless of all the nice things surrounding me, something was missing.

An angel was gone from my life and the emptiness left behind in his absence hurt more than any fucking withdrawal symptoms ever would. Before the ache increased to the sharp steal-your-breath-pain, Peter spoke again, unknowingly rescuing me.

"I'll leave you to settle in while I make dinner."

I thought to respond, to thank him or something, but when I finally turned around, he was gone. Picking up my duffel bag, I put it on my bed and sat down. I knew I should put my things in the dresser but it seemed too permanent. If my bag stayed packed, it would be easier to escape. I unzipped it and pulled out Peter's iPod before dropping the bag to the floor and kicking it under the high bed.

The last time I'd had a bedroom of my own was at my parent's house, and while they weren't rich, my room was decent sized and I had my own TV and computer. I had new clothes they'd bought me, books for school, sneakers broken in to fit just my feet alone, and like every normal teenage boy, porn magazines hidden in the bottom drawer of my dresser. Standing, I walked over to the tall, wooden bureau, running my hand along the top, pausing at the corner and half expecting to see my initials carved into it like they'd been at home. Since I'd packed a bag and walked out of that room four years before with everything I could carry, I'd never been in one place very long. Everything in my life was temporary. Even my life on the streets had been temporary because there was no doubt I was going to die young. I'd seen it enough, it was only a matter of time before it was my turn.

I had knocked on heaven's door almost daily. Every time I got into a car or snorted the white powder I craved so fucking much, I was standing at those pearly gates, my hand poised to knock and beg for entrance. Of course, no one in their right mind would let me in. The only doors that would open for me would be fiery, exposing brimstone and molten lava.

Surely my soul would not end up in heaven. Hell was where I belonged.

Hell was where I'd lived.

For four years, I survived what some didn't even know existed. I didn't do it alone, I had help from Jasper and Ricky and drugs. Being high made things bearable, made me forget the bad shit I was doing to myself and others, made the nights seem like they just might not turn into morning. Those were the best highs, the ones that gripped my body and mind so entirely I thought it might be the end, and I didn't mind.

But it never was.

Somehow I always woke up in an angel's protective embrace, even when I was sure I hadn't fallen asleep there. I would groan when daylight pierced my closed lids and wonder just how many fucking drugs I was going to have to take to get through another day.

Sometimes it just wasn't worth the effort.

Except one person made it worth the effort. He had come into my life in the usual way, but the reason he stayed was anything but usual. It was a rarity on the streets to find someone you dared to close your eyes around, who you knew would be there when you opened them again.

I trusted him.

We trusted each other.

Then he would kiss my neck or brush my greasy hair aside and whisper in my ear. I don't even remember the shit he said, sometimes he tried to sing lyrics to songs he didn't know but had heard, sometimes he would simply say 'welcome back'. Grumbling, I would roll over, ready to tell him to fuck off, but then I'd see the relief on his face and end up kissing him instead.

"How bad was I?" I asked, rubbing my eyes. He shrugged. "That bad, huh?"

"I've seen worse," he admitted.

I didn't apologize, I rarely did. Jasper knew me, he knew what I was like and chose to stay. I might not have said I was sorry, but I did curve my hand around his neck and pull his lips to mine.

"Want me to suck you?" I offered, feeling his erection rutting into my side.

With a groan, he shifted his hips and began to urgently undo his pants. It wasn't like we didn't have all day to fuck. Other than looking for some food, we spent most of our days sleeping. After a few pumps of his hand along his length, he moved to kneel beside me. Sitting up, I shook my hair out of my eyes and engulfed him, quickly bobbing my head, creating a steady rhythm of heat and friction. When I looked up and saw his head thrown back, I smiled around his cock. Being a whore had its advantages.

"Coming," he grunted, forcing himself deep into my throat where his cock drained warm cum as I swallowed around him.

He pulled himself from me, collapsing by my side but pulling me onto him at the same time. Lying flush on him, the scent of his arousal was stronger than the decaying building we were in or the fact neither of us had showered in days. He moaned into the kiss, his tongue sweeping through my mouth to gather the remains of his flavor, his hand slipping under the waistband of the loose jeans I was wearing to grope my ass.

"Want me to take care of you?" he offered in a mumble against the skin of unshaven jaw.

His question of innocent words said not so innocently sent a shudder through me. I didn't think he had any idea just how much he already did take care of me.

The morning I'd dreaded facing was suddenly getting a lot better. Maybe it wasn't so bad after all, at least not when I woke up to Jasper and his rusty halo.

In the bedroom, I closed my eyes, letting the pain envelope me, slowly working its way through me until it clenched my heart like a vise. It was a pain I'd lived with since I'd seen him pull away in a limo from rehab, leaving me behind. Standing there and not running after him had been the fucking hardest thing I'd ever done, way harder than rehab, way harder than selling my body for money or drugs, way harder than surviving the streets. My mind, which had gradually become clearer the longer I was in rehab, forced me to remain still as Jasper left, but my heart…my heart screamed to run, and once he was out of sight, it simply shattered onto the ground. I turned and walked inside, leaving the pieces on the steps.

I didn't need them anymore.

The next day I was lying on my bed pretending to be sick so I didn't have to do group therapy when there was a knock on my door. Carla told me I had visitor. I leapt off the bed so fast I almost fell, and then shoved her to the side as I bolted out the door and sprinted down the hall, skidding to a stop when I looked up and saw him.

His shoulders were wide and slightly slouched even as he tried to stand tall. Messed up hair obviously hadn't been washed, and I suspected the clothing had been worn at least one day. My heart, which had briefly filled with hope, broke again and I wanted to turn and leave. Everything in me told me to walk away, he wasn't the right one. Instead, I found myself walking across the lobby until I was standing only inches from him. One more step and my forehead was pressed against his chest. He tucked me under his chin and when my fingers found the partially untucked shirt at his waist, his arms went around me and I felt his long sigh in my hair.

He was hurting as much as I was, maybe even more, and yet, he was still comforting me. Or maybe I was comforting him. Or maybe we were comforting each other. Peter couldn't possibly understand what Jasper and I were, no one could, but right then in Peter's arms with his strong warmth around me, I was lulled into thinking it would be okay. Jasper had been the only thing in my life that wasn't temporary. Even when he left, when I couldn't see him anymore, I felt him. Behind me in bed. Next to me outside in the yard. Inside me at night when I jerked myself off. He was nowhere and everywhere. I think that was why it hurt so much.

"Are you all right?"

I jumped, spinning around to find Peter in the doorway of the bedroom. He looked different, but I couldn't tell why.

"Um, yeah."

"Something wrong with the bureau?" he asked softly, his eyes barely darting at the packed bag under the bed.

Why did he have to be so fucking observant?

"No," I lied. Sort of. I mean, there wasn't anything wrong with the dresser, I just didn't want to unpack if I was going to be leaving soon.

"You're not going anywhere," he said quietly but firmly. The Pacific blue-green of his eyes held me, making sure there was no doubt I'd understood the words he hadn't said aloud. He'd told Jasper he would take care of me, and he wasn't going to fail. Before I could object, tell him to fuck off, I could take care of myself, he released me from his stare.

"Dinner's ready."

Then he turned and left me there.

Alone.

Breathing heavy, though I had no fucking idea why, I looked at the duffle bag. I could grab it, run down the stairs and be out the door before he even noticed I was gone.

I could be free.

"Fuck," I mumbled as I grabbed the iPod and walked out of the room and down the stairs.

Peter had given me a tour of his house after I'd arrived, but I still got lost, making a left at the bottom of the stairs and ending up in his office instead of the kitchen. I stood there for a few seconds, eyeing the large desk and allowing images of being bent over it flash through my mind. My cock twitched in my jeans and I moaned.

I missed Josh.

Well, I missed his dick in my ass.

And his tongue in my mouth.

And his hand on my cock.

I'd only been out a day and I was already itching for a good fuck.

Pans banged in the kitchen. My cock stirred more, realizing a really good fuck was only a few rooms away. Suddenly feeling better, I turned and followed the sounds of him cooking. The kitchen was much bigger than Jasper's. There were marble counters and all kinds of pots hanging from the ceiling. When I walked in, his back was to me as he stood in front of the sink with the water running.

"Have a seat," he said without looking behind him. I looked around the kitchen but didn't see any chairs. "Dining room." He motioned to another room. Curious, I walked into it, not surprised to see a large table there with several chairs around it. How many people did this guy take in?

There were two glasses and placemats sitting on the end and the corner next to it. Picking the seat slightly closer to the door, I pulled the chair out and sat down. Peter appeared a few seconds later, his eyes immediately falling on the chair I'd chosen. He placed a plate in front of me and then set a matching one down on the other placemat. I think it was turkey, or chicken, or pork. Peter sat down and sipped from a glass of water as he eyed me.

"Something wrong?"

_Yes. _

It was too nice. Everything was too fucking nice. I didn't belong in a huge house eating home cooked meals off matching plates at a table made for twelve. I had no money on me, certainly not enough to pay him back for everything he was doing. If he hadn't let me blow him for the clothes he got for me in the hospital, how the fuck was I supposed to pay him back for feeding me and giving me a place to sleep?

I didn't have money, but I did have something.

"You can fuck me anytime you want, you don't even need to ask," I offered bluntly.

Water spewed from his mouth and across the table in front of him. Dabbing at it with his napkin, his brows knit together and shook his head. "I told you, this isn't about that."

Then what the fuck was it about?

Not hungry, I pushed my plate away. "You don't want to fuck me?"

Hanging his head, he sighed. "I didn't say that."

Angling my head, I let my clean hair fall over one eye and gave him my best bedroom stare that always made knees weak. "Why not? Is it because I'm so much younger?" I teased lightly, continuing before he could even register an answer. "Because if so, don't worry, I've been fucked by men twice your age."

Taking my bait, he leaned back and raised an eyebrow. "Oh really?"

"How old are you anyway?"

A smirk turned one side of his lips up. "How old do you think I am?"

I focused on his face where all the telltale signs of age are. There were only one or two lines around each bluish eye and only one running along his forehead that was deep enough to notice when is brows weren't folded together. His lips were full and moist and there wasn't a hint of gray on his temple. Quickly, I scanned his body, one I'd still yet to see but had felt against me a few times. It was hard packed with muscle.

"Twenty-nine," I answered.

His smile grew. "I'll be twenty-nine next week."

I shrugged casually. It was a talent, I tried not to flaunt it.

"Not much older than you," he continued to smile confidently.

Doing the math, I added, "When you were learning to drive, I was in first grade."

His smile faded and my cocky one grew. Motioning to my barely touched food, he grumbled, "Eat."

Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out his iPod and slid it across the table.

"Keep it," he said, pushing back to me.

I looked at him, prepared to argue, but saw the look in his eyes. I knew the look, it was the 'don't question me look', one I'd seen often from anyone in authority. Usually that look only made me want to question them, being a rebel and all, but instead of arguing with him, I just left the iPod on the table.

For the rest of the meal, which wasn't long, he was quiet, his eyes occasionally glazing over with memories of another time before he would bring himself back to the present and try to give me a look pretending he really hadn't been thinking of Jasper. I knew otherwise. I wasn't a complete idiot.

Besides, I knew how he felt. I missed Jasper too.

He finished his food and I left most of mine on the plate, but he didn't say anything when he picked it up to carry it back to the kitchen. Standing, I took my glass of milk he'd insisted on giving me and headed toward the living room. On the tour, the stop there had been brief and I'd only caught a glimpse of something familiar near the fireplace.

Making sure he was busy in the kitchen, I entered the living room, my eyes immediately drawn to the corner. Even in the dimly lit room, I could tell it had come from his apartment. I walked over to it, running a hand along the smooth lacquer finish, but avoiding the bench and closed cover. I didn't need to see the keys to hear the music in my head, the lows and highs, along with the voice behind me.

"It's a gift from God, what you have," she said sweetly, honestly believing my ability to play came from the heavens and not the hours I spent practicing. Ignoring her, I continued to play, hoping the music would drown out the rest of her preaching.

The bench was calling to me. I didn't know why and it unnerved me. Playing hadn't been something I enjoyed, it was something I'd been expected to do as the good Christian boy I was. Closing my eyes put me back in church, sitting at the piano in front of the entire congregation in my slacks, shirt and tie, playing like I'd been taught to do. It was a love-hate relationship. Performing represented things I was against, conformity, obedience, and submission, but once the music started, the people would fade away and I was transported with the melody, letting it fill me instead of their useless words telling me how I was supposed to act and be.

I was nothing like them, they just didn't know it yet.

"I thought you might like to have it here," a deep voice that was definitely not my mother's said behind me. What was it with him and sneaking up on people? Or was I just losing my touch?

Snapping my hand back like I'd been burnt, I shook my head. "You don't need to keep it for me. I don't play anymore."

"I like having it regardless," he replied, "and it's here should you change your mind."

"I won't," I said defiantly. Exhaling, I turned to face him. "So now what?" He tilted his head questioningly and I sighed about having to explain it. "You got me here. Now what?"

"Now you live here, continue your therapy with DA and remain clean."

He said it like it was fact. Already a done deal. And like I had no choice in the matter.

"Easier said than done, old man," I scoffed, turning around and stepping closer.

His eyes tracked my movement but he remained in place as I approached. Standing only inches from him, I held his gaze and put my hand at the button of his jeans, then ran my fingers up his taut body, suppressing a smile when he shivered. Reaching his shoulder, I leaned toward him. His hand snapped up from his side to grab my wrist and pull my hand away from him.

"I said it's not about that," he reminded me like a child.

I rolled my eyes. "Fine. I'm going to jerk off. I'll leave the door open in case you care to join me."

Brushing past him, I left a pretty stunned Peter in the living room and swung by the dining room for the iPod before jogging up the stairs.

I left the door open, but I didn't jerk off. I flopped on the bed and put the iPod on to drown out the thoughts chasing me from every side, but Jim's raspy voice in my ears wasn't enough to soothe the demons growing inside me as much it had in rehab. It was different now that I was out.

And I didn't want to admit it scared the fucking shit out of me.

Regardless, my eyes still closed and my mind unwillingly wandered.

"What do you want for dinner?" she asked me as I walked into the kitchen. I knew I should have headed right for the stairs, but my growling stomach had led me to the fridge for food.

I shrugged.

"Don't care," I finally mumbled when she wouldn't let me out of her stare.

Opening the door of the fridge, I scanned the contents.

Milk?

Did she really fucking think I still drank milk? I was fucking fifteen. Besides, milk was for pussies. Why couldn't we have soda like every other house? Casey always had soda in his fridge. My eyes strayed to the bottle of wine they kept for dinner parties and I licked my lips.

_He will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear._

Bunch of bullshit._He_ was fucking tempting me every minute of my life. Tempting me with the wine, with the sound of Jim's voice, and with Casey's lips and how they felt around my dick.

And that was only today.

"Close the door if you can't find anything," she reminded me. Sighing, I grabbed the OJ and then kicked the door closed before opening the cupboard and reaching for a bag of chips. "Riley, that's not good before din-"

I didn't hear the end. By the time I'd reached the stairs, I'd already blocked her out. I didn't feel guilty about it though. She'd been blocking me out for years. She liked to pretend I was someone else, and I usually let her, but that shit was getting old.

In my room, I dropped my backpack and fished my phone out, smiling when I saw a text from Casey.

_You're so fucking hot_

Smirking, I typed a reply.

_Tell me something I don't know_

_I'm jerking off to you_

The flashes of Casey lying on his bed with his hand on his cock were enough to make mine twitch. Just like he knew it would.

_Join__me?_He text before I could answer the other one.

More fucking temptation.

Groaning, I found myself clutching the phone with one hand while my other pressed against my growing dick. Casey was about my height, slightly bigger build with coal black hair that was long enough to curl at the ends, and two different colored eyes, one brown, one blue. When I wasn't trying to figure out which eye to look at, I would stare at his lips when he pouted and his perfect Chiclet shaped teeth when he flashed a smile. It wasn't like we were boyfriends or anything, we just hung out and gave each other head. Though we hadn't fucked. Not yet anyway, but it was only a matter of time.

Our lives were pretty similar. He was an only child like me, both his parents worked, our houses were about the same size, and we both played soccer. But there was one big difference. Casey didn't have his parents breathing the wrath of God with every little thing he did. Like drinking soda. I didn't remember hearing that on the list of sins.

Casey and I had met the year before as freshmen when we both made the JV soccer team. The next spring, he helped me in math and let me cheat off him European history. When I jokingly asked how I could pay him back, he whispered he wanted a blowjob. Even though we'd hung around, even showered near each other in the locker room after practice, I'd no idea he was gay. Then again, I'd only figured it out myself a few months earlier, and while my gaydar was still developing, Casey's was fully functional. Standing in the hallway at school, my mouth gapping open at his suggestion, my cock began to harden.

Then I nodded.

That afternoon I gave my first blowjob. It was nothing and everything I expected. We went to his place after school and he closed and locked his door before undoing his khaki shorts and letting the flap fall open as he pulled his cock out of his briefs.

"Have you done this before?" he rasped, his breath warm on my face. I wanted to say of course I had, what self-respecting fifteen-year-old gay kid hadn't given head. But for once, I took the honest route and shook my head. "Me either."

Relieved, I let my eyes drop to his hand moving languidly along his cock and felt my body heating up all over. Before I realized it, I was lowering myself to my knees and licking my lips.

"You sure?" he asked softly.

We hadn't even kissed yet and his dick was inches from my mouth. Looking up at him one last time, I parted my lips and waited. He gently directed himself into my mouth, his eyes rolling back as he pushed deeper. I almost gagged, but found it easier than I thought to take him all in.

He tasted salty and smelled musky. Things I thought would gross me out only made me harder. Like the heat radiating from between his legs. Or the fact that his asshole was so close to my face. Or the velvet look of his balls. I groaned when I saw his sac unnaturally bunched against him from the elastic of his underwear.

He easily fit into my mouth, rubbing his length over my tongue while I remained still. Each buck of his hips earned a quiet moan. I'd watched porn, I mean, who didn't at fifteen, it's why the internet was created, and I knew I was supposed to be moving…or something. Reaching up, I grabbed his hips and stopped them. Confused, he stared at me until I began to bob my head. I found myself clumsy and without rhythm, but it Casey didn't seem to care as his fingers tentatively edged themselves into my hair as he directed my pace. Whenever I looked up at him through my lashes, silently asking him if I was doing it right, he would groan and thrust deeper.

That was when I learned I had a power. Like a superhero, but way more useful than a utility belt or the ability to leap tall buildings in a single bound. It seemed with only a well-timed glance, I made his knees weak. It gave me a rush to know Casey was at my mercy.

"C'ming," he announced suddenly and I panicked.

I hadn't thought much past fitting him in my mouth, much less what to do when he came. The guys in porn usually pulled out and came all over their lover's face. Would Casey do that? Would it hurt? If it got in my eyes, would it sting like shampoo? Before I wondered anymore, I felt his cock pulse in my mouth and there was no time to pull away before thick, warm fluid was flooding my mouth and shooting down my throat in bursts. Forcing myself to swallow it, I unintentionally pulled him further into my throat and he cried out, the last of his cum releasing from him.

Slipping from me, he looked down at me with a heaving chest, his fingers still tangled in my short hair. "You're fucking amazing," he gasped and I smiled, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

It wouldn't be the last time I heard those words.

_Sure_I repliedto his text message.

Pressing speed dial for his number, I waited for him to answer. He did, already panting. Plopping on my bed, I pulled my shorts down and took my half hard cock into my hand. With a well practice stroke and his dirty words murmured in my ear, I worked myself into a heated frenzy. Vaguely aware my door wasn't completely closed, I realized I didn't care. Let my mother see me. Let her hear my dirty words, words that would surely cause fire to rain down on me. Let her find out that on the other end of the phone was a boy.

Who I wanted to fuck.

Let her find out her perfect only son was gay.

They'd all find out eventually anyway. I just didn't know how much my world would change when they did, how much different my life could possibly get. It wasn't long before I found out.

The shaking was dull at first, then more violent and I swatted at the annoyance. Gradually things came back to me, Jim was still crooning in my ear, my head was thrashing back and forth and there was a large hand on my side, its warmth seeping through my shirt and scorching my skin. Rehab had spoiled me after so many nights there, my sleep senses had dulled. On the streets, I slept with one eye open, not literally of course, but it sure felt like it. But after sleeping in a bed in a room thinking I was safe, my body had learned to fall into a deeper sleep.

I didn't like it.

It made me feel weak, vulnerable.

Snapping my eyes open, I found Peter standing at the side of the bed, gently shaking me as his lips moved. Reaching up, I pulled out an earbud.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, why?" I asked breathlessly. Why was I breathless?

"Because you were screaming and you're soaking wet."

I looked down and saw my tee shirt sticking to my chest and felt beads of sweat rolling down the side of my face. But more important than either of those was the fact I was hard as a fucking rock and Peter was leaning over me.

And he was shirtless.

In sleep pants.

Thin ones with nothing on under them.

I ignored the questions rushing through me, what time was it and did he always sleep like that, and I reached up and curved a hand around his neck to lower him to me while grabbing his hand from my side and moving it to my aching cock.

"Make me forget," I whispered hoarsely.

For just a second I thought he might give in, for a second his eyes flickered wildly before control clouded them again and he jerked back out of my grasp.

"I just wanted to be sure you were all right," he stuttered before taking a step a back and turning to leave.

Rising up to my elbows, I watched him, my eyes following the way his hips swayed when he walked. Sighing when he was out of sight, I fell back and closed my eyes again with "Light my Fire" playing in my ear.

I wanted a lot more than my fire lit.

I didn't get it. I mean, I knew I wasn't losing my charm. It still worked on everyone else. But not Peter. I had few skills in life, I could suck and fuck, I could steal just about anything, and I could read people. Didn't matter who, I could do it. There were only a few exceptions, and I happened to be living with one of them.

It was unnerving.

What was wrong with me? Even in rehab where sex had been prohibited, I'd still found someone to fuck me. Now I was out and had no one. Jasper was gone, Peter didn't want me. I missed Jasper more than ever, more than I thought it was possible to yearn for someone. I wanted him next to me, I wanted his arms around me, his soft voice telling me it was going to be okay even though he didn't believe it himself. The ache in my chest, the heaviness of having someone ripped away, hurt more than anything I'd ever suffered through. I needed to feel close to him and I couldn't do it there. Not like that.

Sitting up, I turned off the iPod and tossed it on the table. Then I grabbed Teddy and stood up. Leaving the plush blankets and pillows on the bed, I walked around it to the empty corner of the room, grateful it was the one opposite the door. No more sneaking up behind me. Lying on the floor, I curled up into a ball, holding Teddy in front of me, his fur tickling my nose but allowing Jasper's faint scent to fill me. The floor was hard, slightly dirty, and cold.

I hadn't felt that comfortable in a long time.

When my eyes finally closed again, I had thoughts of only one thing.

An angel.

"**~~**"

"Do we have to?" I whined, letting my hair shield my face.

I'd woken up a few hours before, still on the floor clutching Teddy. My body was achy when I stood up, but it was a welcomed soreness. One I'd not felt in a long time.

Stripping, I left my clothes on the floor and walked naked into the bathroom, not surprised to find it fully stocked with towels, soaps, washes, and shampoos. Even razors and colognes. He'd thought of everything. Turning on the shower and getting under the steaming spray didn't do as much for me as it normally did. I was actually getting used to showering on a daily basis, and not having to do it publically. Even smelling the shampoo did nothing for me, though I did like the way my hair felt as I rinsed it out. After a quick shower, I'd pulled my duffle bag out from under the bed and dressed before kicking it back under again. Then I went downstairs to explore the kitchen but found Peter in there already. He asked if I slept okay and I eyed him. Why would he care how I had slept? But I nodded anyway. Then he said he was taking me shopping.

Normally, shopping would have exited me, I liked the thrill of getting away without paying for shit, but everything seemed off. Dull. Sharp. Clear. Hazy.

He picked his keys up off the counter with a firm, "You don't have nearly enough clothes."

"What's wrong with these?" I looked down at Jasper's jeans and tee shirt. I had some of my own upstairs, but I much preferred his.

Peter sighed, his chest rising and falling deeply before stepping close to me. Cupping my chin, he forced my head upright, my eyes to his. "We're going to get you some clothes. You can bitch about it all you want, but we're going."

Swallowing, I nodded. If he stayed that close to me all the time, I'd do whatever he fucking wanted. He only had about three inches on me but he seemed so much bigger. Maybe it was the width of his shoulders, or the aura of confidence that emanated from him. Silently, he handed me a bagel and raised an eyebrow as instruction to eat it.

"Not hungry."

"Eat."

Glaring at him, I picked up half of it and bit into it. No fucking way was I going to tell him that it tasted good. By the satisfied smirk on his face, I think he'd figured it out. He pretended to busy himself while waiting for me to finish. As soon as I took the last bite, a glass of OJ appeared in front of me.

"Don't you have anything stronger?" I joked.

He didn't laugh.

I downed the OJ. "Happy, daddy?"

With a curt nod, he motioned for me to follow him. I did. Without complaint.

"Jesus, what the fuck you will buy during your midlife crisis?" I asked him when we entered the garage, my eyes drifting to the candy apple red sports car next to a SUV and sedan.

"I peaked young," he quipped and pointed to the black sedan.

I pouted. If he was going to drag me out, I wanted it to be in style. Fast, red style.

"Next time," he offered, his hand on my lower back guiding me toward the Audi.

"Don't you have one of those fancy drivers like Jasper?" I asked as I opened the door and climbed in. Getting into a car with a stranger didn't bother me like it used to. After four years of doing it, you begin to not care if you ever came out of it again.

I was immediately engulfed with soft leather seats and smooth, contoured features of the dashboard. The car was nice, really fucking nice, but it wasn't the car that had me moaning. It was the concentration of Peter's scent in it. I don't think he had any idea how fucking good he smelled. Outside the car, it was weaker, but inside, it filled me to capacity and I shifted in the seat.

"Sometimes," he replied absently as he put the key in the ignition and turned it, bringing the car to life. "Buckle up."

Rolling my eyes, I reached for the seatbelt, pulling it around me but getting it stuck about halfway. "What the fuck," I growled, yanking on it roughly.

I hadn't been in a car any distance since the night James's thugs had taken me to the cabin. I hadn't bothered to wear a seatbelt because I really didn't give a fuck if I lived or died. Peter reached over, his hands covering mine, pulling them off the belt and then easing it across my body to click it into the buckle. The back of his hand brushed my side and I bit my lip. Straightening, he hit a button on the roof, which opened the garage door behind us. Twisting around, he backed the car out and then headed down the driveway.

"Where are you taking me?" I asked, turning so I could watch him drive.

Driving probably seemed boring to most, but it wasn't to me. I couldn't drive, well not legally anyway. And I didn't really get to watch guys drive. Pulling around the corner for a more private spot on the street doesn't really count. Not that anywhere on the streets was ever private. But driving was quite a sexy thing if you thought about it. You got to study their profile, and in Peter's case, a fucking sexy profile. Strong, sharp, clean shaven features. Long lashes, but not as long as mine. Full lips that had a slight shine from his tongue moving over them. Then there were his arms, one resting loosely on the steering wheel while other remained on the gear shift. While he faced forward, his eyes constantly glanced in the rearview mirrors as he turned or changed lanes. He didn't look my way but he was completely aware I was watching him.

"Where do you like to shop?"

Was that a serious question?

"For?"

"Clothes."

"Laundromats are the easiest," I said with a shrug.

"Laundromats?"

"Yeah."

He didn't ask anything more, just pursed his lips tightly and sped the car up. Leaning forward, I reached for the radio buttons, pushing them randomly, kind of liking the way the tiny muscles in his jaw twitched with each new button I pressed. I barely registered one song before I was switching to the next, smirking when I saw his knuckles begin to whiten as he gripped the steering wheel. I might not have been able to read him completely, but being able to know what bothered him helped. It gave me an advantage I desperately felt I needed.

Months had passed since the last time I was out in public with him and while the streets hadn't dulled their pull on me, I was able to handle it slightly better. It wasn't easy, and it probably never would be, but with him in the car so close and the bits of music playing, I was able to quiet the need a little.

"Must you?" he said through clenched teeth. It had taken him longer to crack than I'd thought. Good to know.

"Radio just isn't want it used to be. Can't find anything." I kept pressing the buttons.

"There's over two hundred stations," he growled, then muttered under his breath, "and you've tried them all."

Finally settling on a classic rock station, I resumed my position to observe him. He loosened up with the music, apparently agreeing on my choice and by the end of the song he was tapping along with it. Maybe I knew him better than I thought.

Or he knew me better than I thought.

The second one was scary. I didn't like it.

Before I could think about it too much, we were pulling into a parking lot and he was finding a space. It was a mall I'd been to before but not for a year or two. He turned off the car and opened his door. I did the same, missing the concentration of his scent as soon as I inhaled fresh air. The car beeped and I jumped back, shooting him a hard look but following when he waved me over.

We entered into the mall and I glanced around. A few overweight mall cops were to our left, a family to our right. I walked inside, then stopped when I realized he wasn't beside me. He was holding the door for a woman with a baby in a stroller. As soon as she was through, he was at my side, his hand on my back guiding me down the wide corridor. Stores with bright signs and displays in the window lined both sides.

"Can we go there?" I pointed to a store with a shirtless kid about my age standing in front of it.

"No," he replied, keeping me moving forward even though I kept trying to look over my shoulder at the pretty boy.

Everywhere I looked there were crying babies and frustrated mothers, couples holding hands, groups of guys laughing too loud and teen girls stalking them. It was just as much a jungle as the streets were, just a different kind. I stared at the windows of the stores, each of them trying to convince me they were selling me something I had to have.

They didn't know shit about selling themselves.

Peter directed me through the people and into a large store at the end. The first thing I noticed was the smell.

Money.

Not real physical money, but the scent of those that could afford to shop there. Cologne, expensive fabrics, and leather. Peter led me to the guy's clothes, his cowboy boots clicking on the tiled floor. I reached out, running my hand along the sleeves of the jackets or over the sweaters on shelves. Once we reached the department, he dropped his hand from me and motioned to the clothes.

"Pick out whatever you want."

Dipping my chin, I looked up at him through my lashes and reached out for him. He almost rolled his eyes before turning to a shelf of jeans.

"You must be up a size from the pair I bought you before," he said as he looked through the jeans. When I didn't answer, he looked at me and I shrugged.

Scanning the shelves of neatly folded sweaters and mannequins dressed nicer than anything I'd ever worn, I didn't see anything that was me. It was all too…neat. Clean. Colorful.

Near us was a man dressed in a suit and tie, his hair gelled back and aftershave wafting off him. He looked down his nose at me. I hated shopping.

"I think you should fuck me right here," I said to Peter loud enough for the other guy to hear.

"Excuse me?" Peter choked, almost dropping the pants.

"I want you fuck me right here, cowboy," I teased. Had he been Jasper, he would have played along with it, but instead, I received a terse warning look and strong fingers around my wrist as he glanced apologetically at the man and yanked me to a more secluded area.

"What are you doing?" he growled, standing so close me his breath warmed my face.

"Anyone that shops here has a stick up their ass," I grumbled, looking away from him.

"I shop here," he confessed. I looked back at him with a raised brow. Exhaling, he released my wrist. "Fine, where do you want to go?"

"Follow me."

Turning, I walked out of the store and back into the main mall. Looking around at the storefronts, I couldn't remember which way the pretty boy was, but I wasn't going to let Peter know that. I'd led us down one corridor and then another before his hand was on my lower back again to guide me. A minute later, I could see the store ahead. My eyes were drawn to the guy standing just outside the entrance with his hands in his pockets. Why didn't he have a shirt on? Why was he still there? Was he hooking in the mall? If I'd known you could do that, I would have. So much warmer than outside.

"He's a model," Peter answered my unasked questions.

"For what? He barely has any clothes on?"

"For the store. They want you to think that if you wear their jeans, you'll look like he does in them," he explained as we neared.

"I would look better."

Peter contained a smile, and assuming I was going inside, dropped his hand from my back, letting me free. I walked up to the boy. He was about my height with a tanned, chiseled chest and sculpted abs. The V leading under his pants was deep and there was a trail of hair visible above the waistband of jeans he was pulling down on with the weight of his hands in his pockets. Short black hair was spiked straight up and his light blue eyes were clear.

He was a fucking pretty package.

I wanted him.

I wanted to fuck him.

At first he didn't notice my approach, but then his eyes caught mine and he watched me as I walked over to him. He looked me up and down, too appreciatively for a straight boy but not quite enough for someone out of the closet. Shaking my head and letting my hair fall exactly into place, I stopped in front of him. Right in front of him.

"Can I help you?" he asked nervously.

I loved it when they trembled. Made the game so much more fun.

"Maybe."

I licked my bottom lip, pleased when his eyes followed the path of my tongue. Not saying anything further, I placed my hand on his side, feeling his smooth, heated skin. He wanted to pull away, his eyes darting to those around us to see who was watching, who saw my hand on his side, who could see my thumb stroking his skin. But he didn't. He stayed right there, letting me touch him.

He swallowed hard. "Do you need help finding something?"

"I think I've found what I need," I murmured. "Do you want to fuck?"

His mouth dropped open to speak but no words came out. Wide blue eyes looked at me in shock. Was he surprised I wanted to fuck him? Didn't he know he was hot?

"Riley!" I was scolded from behind.

Strong hands were on my own sides, pulling me backwards and away from the pretty boy. "Bye, gorgeous," I said was I directed away.

Peter was muttering under his breath again, something about more than he bargained for and no filter. I didn't have to look over my shoulder to see if Pretty Boy was staring at me. There was no doubt he was.

I mean, who wouldn't.

The inside of the store was brighter than the outside, but still dimly light. There was clothing hanging on the walls and folded on tables. There appeared to be a boy side and a girl side. Peter let me led the way into the store, following behind me as I touched some clothing. To everyone there, I was just another shopper.

But I wasn't shopping. At least, not like they thought.

I was counting employees, camera placement, and checking to see if the clothes were tagged.

There were two girl employees on the guys' side, talking with each other, and one guy employee flirting with a girl customer he had no chance with. She wanted Pretty Boy.

Who didn't?

The cameras were well placed but not hidden, one was fake, two were real. Most of the clothing was tagged but not all. Jeans and hoodies were, but tee shirts weren't. To our left was a shopper, only he wasn't. He was undercover security. I don't know why they made them so obvious, anyone could tell from his size to the way he didn't even look at the clothes but instead was constantly scanning the store. Thing was, people were easy to distract, especially if Jasper was with me. I smiled thinking about the last time we'd jacked clothes.

I stopped in front of a large table with tee shirts displayed on it. Peter was right behind me, close enough to feel his heat when he leaned forward and put his lips at me ear.

"Don't think about it," he warned.

How the fuck did he know?

"I like these," he said, casually picking up a gray tee shirt as if he hadn't just warned me not to shoplift. He held the shirt up for me and I had to admit, it looked nice. It was a thin, fitting V-neck. "Why don't you try it on?"

Grabbing the hem of my shirt, I went to slide it up but he stopped me. "What?"

"They have fitting rooms," he said, motioning to a row of doors behind me.

"Where's the fun in that? Besides, they have a shirtless model, why the fuck would they care if I took mine off?"

"Rules, Riley."

"Fuck the rules," I challenged verbally but released my shirt.

"Let's find some stuff for you to try on."

Sighing, I followed him around, nodding or shaking my head to the clothing he picked up. My heart didn't race with the excitement of getting away with something. It was rather boring. But I did like the clothes. They would look hot on me. With a few pairs of jeans, some shirts, and hoodies in my arms, I went to the fitting rooms Peter insisted I use. I winked at the kid who unlocked one for me and closed the door behind me.

The room was small with a tiny bench and three mirrors. As I began to take off my shirt, I idly wondered what it'd be like to fuck in one with all the mirrors. Then I wondered if Peter wanted to find out with me. Ignoring the stirring of my cock when I thought of him taking me from behind while I watched, I toed off my sneakers and stripped down to my briefs. Taking a pair of jeans, I pulled them on and zipped them up.

Fuck yeah.

Pretty boy model had nothing on me.

Four months of working out and eating had done my body good. I wasn't nearly as big as Jasper, even Beautiful still had more size than I did, but the muscles were starting to appear. The jeans were tight, curving around my ass and hips, snug in the crotch to show off my assets. Turning, I pulled the door open to show Peter. He was leaning against a table across in front the rooms, one hand in his pocket while he held his phone with his other, studying it.

When he realized the door was open, he looked at me, starting with my bare feet peeking out from the dark denim, then up my legs to my hips and continuing over my chest. I spun, showing him the backside and looking over my shoulder at myself in one of the mirrors.

"What do you think?" I asked him.

As if I didn't know.

"They look nice."

Nice?

They looked fucking better than nice.

Lifting my eyes from my reflection to him, I saw his gaze firmly planted on my ass. Like a fucking moth to a flame. Arching my back, I stuck my hips out, letting my hair brush my shoulders as I twisted to see him. There was no missing the erection growing in his jeans and the hint of desire in his eyes.

Maybe shopping wasn't so bad after all.

"Why don't…why don't you try on another pair?"

Giving him an amused smile, I nodded and began to unbutton them.

"Door," he reminded me with a raised brow.

I tapped it closed with my foot, giving him a glare before he was blocked from my view.

The next pair fit a bit looser, I didn't like them as much but I showed them to Peter anyway. He seemed more prepared for me that time, more controlled, his eyes lingering on my ass slightly less.

"Next time with a shirt," he suggested with a long look at my bare torso.

Ignoring his instructions, I tried on the next pair, they fit fine around my ass but were too long. I didn't bother to show them to Peter. Instead, I went to the last pair that fit much like the first. Opening the door, I found Peter studying his phone, his brows furrowed as he furiously typed. When he looked up at me, the lust I'd seen in his eyes was gone, replaced by the pain he'd been carrying around since the same day as me. My eyes darted to his phone, which I suspected was the reason for his agony.

"They look nice," he said, barely checking me out.

Sighing, I closed the door and tried the tee shirts on one after the other, admiring each one in all three mirrors. Once I'd tried everything on, I opened the door and exposed the mess of clothing hanging off the bench, half inside out and bunched up. Picking out a few tee shirts and the first pair of jeans, I held them up.

"I like these."

Peter motioned for me to come to him and I did, carrying the clothing. He took them from me and refolded them. "This isn't much, do you want more?"

"No."

"Why don't we get some more jeans? What about sweatpants for sleeping?"

"I sleep naked."

I didn't always. I only slept naked with Jasper, and Jasper…and Teddy were the only ones I slept with.

"Oh," he gulped, "um, then you can wear them around the house."

Without waiting for a reply, he started going through the piles, asking me for colors. Did it matter? I picked out a few pairs and then he moved back to the tee shirts, insisting I get a few more before stacking some jeans on top of it all.

It was more than I could steal at once. It was more than I could pay him back for.

I glanced at the phone he held in his hand, suddenly a bit desperate to see it, to see Jasper's name, words from him. Had he mentioned me?

"Ready to go?"

I followed him to the counter where a girl greeted him and took the clothing. I'd purposely ignored the small white tags hanging them all. I didn't want to know how much he was spending. How much more I was going to owe him. Instead, I walked out to find Pretty Boy.

He was in the same spot, almost in the same position, the blush on his cheeks from earlier had faded and he was aimlessly looking up and down the corridor. His backside looked as fine as his front and I was just about to press myself to him when there was an arm around my waist.

"Let's do more shopping."

Peter dragged me away, but not before I got one last wink at Pretty Boy, putting that blush back on his cheeks.

Peter forced me into a few more stores, walking out with bags of more clothing than I'd owned in the previous four years combined. Each time he paid, I found a way to occupy myself away from the register. Finally, we headed for the car and Peter piled the bags in the trunk before getting inside.

"Hungry?"

I wasn't until he said it. The time in rehab hadn't been enough to relearn the years of suppressing my hunger.

"Let's get a late lunch," he said when I shrugged. Sitting back in the leather seat, I let my head fall to the side, looking out the window instead of at him.

We drove past Forth Street and I found my eyes habitually scanning the sidewalks. It was early, no one would be out yet. A burn begun inside me, more of simmering, a warning of the yearning still in me, one that only been dulled by rehab. It would never be gone completely.

Before I could get too lost in the need, a hand was covering mine on my lap, squeezing it reassuringly. I don't know if he knew what I was thinking or if he thought it was something else entirely, but either way, I turned my palm up, loosely opening my fingers to let his slide between. Curling mine up, I never looked at him.

But I did hold his hand.

"**~~**"

"Is this booth okay?" the hostess asked as she placed two menus on the table.

"Perfect, thank you," Peter replied, flashing her a smile and sitting down. I sat down across from him, quickly scanning the room.

The booth was on the side, but Peter had let me sit facing the door. There was a couple behind us, the guy was nervous about something, a group of four women celebrating something, and a few business men to our left. Two older, two younger. I could handle the older, but the younger looked quick. I wished Jasper was with me. It would be easier. He would know what to look for. He could handle himself in a fight. I didn't know if Peter could, though he looked like he could.

"Hey," he said, coaxing my attention back to him. "We're here to eat. You're safe."

I snorted. Like I hadn't heard that before.

Thing was, as much as I was scooping the place out, I did feel safe with Peter. Just not there. At his house or in his car was one thing. Even in rehab I felt safer, I had the upper hand. But in a place like this, I didn't. Too many people to watch, too many to anticipate.

A foot rest against mine in silent reassurance and I didn't jump, but I looked at him. His eyes were on his open menu on the table in front of him, skimming over the pictures of food. "What are you going to have?"

It was so easy for him. Walk in, sit, order, eat, pay, leave.

No digging through dumpsters or hanging out in the back alley waiting for some nice kitchen worker to give you some returned order or day old bread for a quick handjob.

He looked up at me, the anguish from his eyes having faded a little. "The burgers are good."

Without even looking at the menu I said, "I'll have a burger and fries."

He closed his menu as the waitress approached. In a friendly voice, he ordered both our meals and water for him and soda for me. The woman left, promising to be back soon with our drinks.

"I've got something for you."

"About time," I said suggestively and leaned forward. "Bathroom? Car? I'm game for either." He smiled slightly and shook his head, then he leaned back a bit and lifted his hips. "This is getting better and better."

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled something out and slid it across the table. "I thought you might need to talk to him."

A new cell phone sat between us. It was nicer than the one Jasper had gotten me that I'd lost. Biting my lip, I tentatively reached out and touched it. Jasper was only a phone call away. I pulled my hand back.

"You can't keep doing this."

"What?"

"Buying me shit, clothes, this," I motioned to the phone, "and not letting me fuck you in return. It's bad enough you're letting me live with you. I can't begin to pay you for it. Not without hooking anyway."

He didn't answer immediately. He studied me, weighing my words and the seriousness behind them. Trying to give him my best 'don't fuck with me look', I returned his stare. It wasn't I didn't appreciate the stuff, I did, it was just it was all…too much.

"Listen, I know you don't want to fuck me because of Jasper and all, but I can fuck some of your friends for payment if you want?" I offered a compromise.

"Stop. Stop trying to get me to pimp you out. I'm not _James_," he growled. "I promis—"

"I know what you promised him," I interrupted, "but can we leave it at a place to live?"

Our eyes meet heatedly, his darkening to deep sea blue as he debated my suggestion. Refusing to give in, I remained still until he sighed.

"Okay, no more," he finally agreed. "You don t have to take the phone if you don't want. I can return it."

I snatched the phone from the table before he even moved. "Slow old man. But this is the last thing."

He nodded and smiled. "So, Riley, tell me about yourself."

"You need to work on your pickup lines."

Chuckling, he leaned back in the seat but his foot remained against mine. "Maybe, but I still want to know about you."

"Why?" I wasn't exactly anybody's favorite topic, certainly not someone like Peter.

"Because it might be nice to know something about the guy living with me."

"I'm a Virgo, I like long walks on the beach under the moonlight. My favorite food is escargot and my favorite color is blue." I couldn't stop a smile. "Oh, and I'm looking for my Mr. Forever."

"Riley," he warned sternly.

"Fine," I sighed, "what do you want to know?"

"Whatever you want to tell me."

"Are you always so difficult to talk to? I feel like him in therapy. 'Tell me how you feel, Riley'," I mocked and he laughed.

"Not therapy, just curious."

"Didn't Jasper tell you?"

"I want to hear it from you," he replied, confirming that Jasper had at least told him some of it.

"I was fifteen and kicked out of my house. I stayed with a friend until his mother caught me his in closet, then she tossed me out too. I hitchhiked to Seattle, stripped for few months, then discovered the good money was in hooking, and here I am," I said flatly.

"Something tells me there is a lot more to you than that. Why did your parents kick you out?" he asked, a hint of pain creeping into his tone.

"Because I wasn't like them. I was gay, a sin, disrespectful to their faith."

"You came out?"

"Yep, one Sunday after church. My dad was a minister, my mom worked in the church with groups and shit. Their lives were that church and its congregation, they couldn't afford to have what they preached against living under their roof. It looked better to tell people I'd run away or gone to a fancy school," I explained quietly, my fingers constantly tearing the napkin in front of me into little pieces.

He continued to watch me and I shifted. It hadn't been so hard to tell Beautiful the story, why was it bothering me to tell Peter? I wanted to end the story there, his imagination could fill in the rest, but I should have known he wouldn't let me.

Waiting for me to continue, he gently moved his foot against mine and my heart skipped a beat. I really needed to fucking get laid if someone rubbing their shoe against me was enough to get me excited.

"Tell me about your friend?"

"Casey," I couldn't help but smile when I said his name. "He was my math tutor, but he tutored me in a hell of a lot more than math. Hot. Soft hair and two different colored eyes. Big cock too. Tasted amazing."

Peter almost spit his water out. He seemed to do that a lot. I wondered if he had a drinking problem. Coughing, he glanced around us, relieved when he realized no one was staring at us.

"You okay, old man?" I smirked.

Ignoring me, he asked, "Was he your boyfriend."

"Fuck buddy, friend with benefits." I shrugged. "Made math more a hell of a lot more interesting. Let me cheat off him in European history. I paid him back in blowjobs. It was win-win. I aced the class and got to suck dick."

"And hooking?" he lowered his voice.

"Didn't have much choice. No diploma, no food, no money. There weren't exactly a lot of options for me. I did what I had to do…"

"To survive."

"If you could call it that," I said weakly, then shook my head. "It wasn't so bad. I had friends. I had Jasper."

"And he had you."

Just then the waitress walked over and placed our burgers in front of us, effectively ending our conversation. For the remainder of lunch, I quizzed him about his childhood, finding out it wasn't that much different than mine, minus the God fearing parents. When he mentioned riding and roping and cowboy hats, I shifted in the seat. There was a love in his eyes, different from when he spoke about Jasper. It was a love for his past, his history, his family. He spoke fondly about his dad and how much he enjoyed the farm. When he started to describing the sheer openness of the land, I spoke up.

"I'd like to see that," I mumbled around my burger.

"Yeah?"

"Sure. I've never been out of Washington."

"Maybe…maybe I could take you there sometime?" he offered hesitantly.

"You think Texas can handle me?" I grinned.

"I think the question is, can you handle Texas?"

I leaned closer, running my tongue over my lower lip. "Cowboy, there isn't anything I can't handle."

We finished eating and after refusing my knowledge of how to dine and ditch, Peter paid and we walked out to the car. The ride home was quiet except for his soft humming along with the music on the classic rock station.

We didn't hold hands that time.

"**~~**"

My clothes were still in the duffle bag under the bed but the new clothes, tags and all, were spread on top after I'd dumped them all out of the shopping bags.

Peter and I had gotten home a few hours before and he went to make some calls in his office, leaving me to myself. I wandered around the house briefly, opening a few drawers in the kitchen and checking all the doors. Eventually, I found myself in the living room by the piano, but I didn't touch it. I just stared at it, entranced by the shiny surface and open lid. Wanted or not, the memories came back. Hours of sitting, practicing, and wanting to please my parents. Maybe if I gave them that, if they liked how I played enough, then the thoughts I'd been having weren't so bad.

Turning away, I sprinted up the stairs. In my room, I sat on the bed, chest heaving, but not from the short run.

Sweatpants, jeans, sneakers, tee shirts, hoodies, underwear, socks…everything. Even a fucking shirt and tie.

It wasn't me. None of it.

Somehow Jasper had effortlessly eased himself into this world. He didn't play dress up, he really fit the part. But not me. That wasn't me. I wasn't a Ken doll who could be put in fancy clothes and be a different person.

I was a fucking whore. An addict.

I didn't belong there.

I'd be the best dressed hooker if was on the streets. While manageable hair was important, dressing nice really wasn't. It wasn't my clothes the johns were interested in.

It was my mouth and my ass.

Any part of me they could violate to get their rocks off. But I couldn't place all the blame on them, it wasn't like I wasn't out there walking up their cars and offering head for ten bucks.

Numbly, I put the new clothes away in the dresser, his dresser, and then found myself in the bathroom. Habitually, I opened the drawers, shuffling through the contents for anything he might have forgotten.

Cough syrup. Pain killers.

There was nothing. Neither of those would do much for me anyway.

Frustrated with myself for even looking, I slammed the drawer closed. There was a knock on the bedroom door and I looked around the doorframe to find Peter standing just inside the bedroom.

"What time is your meeting tomorrow?"

"There is one at noon and one at six," I answered, stepping out of the bathroom.

"Which one are you going to?"

I glanced over my shoulder at the drawer still slightly opened. I'd just been trying to find cough syrup in hopes that downing an entire bottle might give me a buzz.

"Both," I answered sadly, hoping like hell they worked.

"I'll drive you."

"That's okay, I can walk or …" He raised a brow and I stopped. "Okay, thanks."

With a small smile, he went to turn, but put his hand on the doorjamb. "Riley, I'm proud of you. What you're doing is difficult."

He had no fucking idea.

"Thanks," I mumbled and he left.

Alone, I went to the bed. For the next several hours, I tried listening to music, I tried reading one of the books Jasper had brought me in rehab. I tried to focus on anything but how much I needed. Eventually I found myself pacing. No matter what I did, the need ate at me. I wasn't even sure what it was for. I only knew one thing.

I needed out.

Nothing bothering with the duffle bag, I grabbed Teddy and walked down the hallway. The stairs were to my right but I found myself walking by them. His door was open enough for me to look inside and see him on his bed. By the heavy, steady rise and fall of his chest, I knew he was asleep. He looked smaller in the large bed, his legs not hanging over the edge like I imagined they would. On his stomach, his face was turned to the side on his pillow with his arms folded under it. Starting at the bottom of his feet, my eyes lazily made their way up his long legs with the sheet tangled around them to the curve of his ass.

Apparently I wasn't the only one who slept nude.

It was partially covered, but I could see the juncture of his legs and ass and my cock stirred. Refusing to let my eyes linger too long, I forced them up to his lower back, taking time to see the muscles twitch under his tanned skin before continuing up the contours of his spine to his wide shoulders. His hair was slightly longer than we I'd first met him, something I was certain had to do with Jasper, and the thick ends of it brushed the nape of his neck. His profile was as strong in sleep on a pillow as it had been driving his car, except scruff now shadowed his jaw.

He looked so peaceful. He had no idea what I was going to do.

Guilt rushed through me. I didn't like it. Guilt was not an emotion I wore well. I had no need for it. I did what I had to do, plain and simple. Still, it was there, ebbing inside me the longer I stared at him. The man who had almost single handedly saved my life. He'd paid a shitload of money to keep me alive and all I wanted to do was walk away from it all.

I knew if I shed my clothing, I could climb into his bed and get me to fuck me. He wouldn't say no, no one could say no to me, but Peter didn't want that. I had no fucking idea why, but he didn't.

Spinning, I left the doorway and headed for the stairs, carefully going down them. It wasn't like my parent's house where I knew all the creaky floorboards. With each step I tried to convince myself it was for the best. I had no loyalty to Peter, I had no reason to feel bad. I hadn't asked him to do any of that shit or buy me stuff, he just had. At the bottom of the steps, I crossed the marble entryway until the door was within reach. It was an average door, wooden with a small window and brass hinges and deadbolt. But it was more than a door. It was the only thing between me and freedom.

And a high.

Taking a step closer, I slid the deadlock. Dragging my hand down the wood, I wrapped my fingers around the cool, smooth metal of the knob. A spark went through me, dull at first, but gathering more strength. Resting my forehead against the wood, I listened to everything inside me telling me to open the door, be free to be who I was. Uncontained…drugs, sex. No responsibilities, no commitment, no guilt.

My veins heated up and my head buzzed as the need consumed me, eating me from the inside out. It wasn't a physical craving, my body didn't yearn for drugs, my mind did. It had been easy in rehab, drugs weren't accessible, but now I was out, and only a short car ride away from getting a fix.

Two days.

I'd been free for two fucking days and I was already giving in.

Jasper would be disappointed in me. He'd seen me at my best and my worst. Usually worst, but I didn't think he'd ever seen me this bad. Bad enough I was willing to throw away everything good he'd done for me. Screwing my eyes shut, I exhaled a long breath. He would understand. Peter would tell him, Jasper would be upset, but he would know, he would remember…

All the nights he'd held me against him, rocking our bodies to soothe the crying, the shaking, the screaming. With his strong arms clamped around me, he would whisper in my ear.

"Rile, it's me, it's okay," he repeated over and over until I couldn't hear him anymore, until I couldn't hear anything but the sound of his heart and the blood rushing through his veins.

I felt him behind me. The same, but different. A weaker presence but almost as soothing. I waited for the hand on my shoulder, for the voice in my ear, but it didn't come.

"You left me, angel, you promised if I got clean, I could come back for you, that you'd be there for me." I murmured. "I can't do this without you."

Words of encouragement were on the edge of someone else's lips, but never spoken, never contradicting what I already knew to be true.

I couldn't do it, I couldn't stay. I had to go.

I had to stay.

For him I had to stay.

The presence strengthened and I lifted my head, turning it slightly before opening my eyes and seeing him right where I already knew he was.

He'd stopped about half way down the stairs, dressed in the same thin pants he'd worn the night before. Pacific eyes dropped to Teddy in my hands. Like some little boy running away from home, I desperately clutched the bear's arm. It was all I had left of Jasper. I wanted to turn the knob, I wanted to open the door and walk out. Walk away from the responsibility that had been thrust onto me when I didn't want it. I hadn't asked for any of this shit. Yet I still found myself in it.

Therapy. Living with a stranger in a world I didn't belong. Sober. Clean. Unwanted.

He refused to move. He refused to let me go so easily, but he wasn't putting the up the fight Jasper would have. Peter wasn't slamming me against the door. He also wasn't dragging me to his room to fuck away the need like Jasper used to.

Instead he just stood. Stared. Hoped.

Turmoil bubbled in the greenish of his eyes while the blue darkened with something else entirely. Something I couldn't name. He held my gaze, his body frozen mid-step as he stared at me, willingly me to let go of the knob.

I gripped it tighter.

He couldn't keep me there.

Pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, he remained still. It was a position he seemed familiar with, being on the end of wanting someone to stay who was so close to leaving. I knew Jasper had hurt him, I saw it all around him, but I didn't think me leaving him would hurt as much. He never spoke, it was his eyes that pleaded and begged…and finally released me, allowing me to go.

Resigned it wasn't his decision to make, he closed his eyes and took a long breath before opening them. With one last look, he turned and walked back up the stairs, leaving me.

Relieved, my hand turned the knob. A loud click echoed in the room, in me, and I stopped.

"Fucking hell," I muttered under my breath. "Fuck you all."

For reasons I will never be quite aware of, I turned around and followed him up the stairs. He'd gone back to his room, leaving his door partially open. Turning left at the top, I went to my room and left my door half opened too. Walking by the bed, I went to the corner and curled up with Teddy.

The cell phone burned in my pocket. I knew Peter had already programmed Jasper's number into it. It would be so easy to call him, to hear his voice and let it calm me. It would also hurt like a motherfucker. As much as I wanted to talk to him, it was too soon. I refused to cry, I refused to give into the pain. Nuzzlings Teddy's wet fur, I inhaled the scent and let my confused mind drift to a memory that would comfort it.

"Tell me one of the nymph stories," he asked, resting his head on my shoulder, his long legs in dirty jeans dangling off the edge of the dock. I shifted. Just having his head on my shoulder was enough to make me think of much less innocent things than fairytales.

"Which one?" I asked, breaking the candy bar in half and giving it to him.

"Thanks," he mumbled, taking it. "Um, the shoe one."

"That's your favorite, isn't it?"

He nodded against my shoulder. It wasn't exactly a ritual, but sitting on the docks watching the sunset as we ate before a night of hooking was becoming a habit. Jasper didn't understand that fairy tales were bedtime stories, I think…I think he liked to hear them before he went out and did something not so innocent. Later on when his face was pressed against the cold brick wall while someone fucked him, he wanted to think about someone who made it out, even if he didn't for one second believe it was possible to escape our lives.

I began to tell him the story, recalling it as best I could from my mother telling it to me, from books and movies, from anything. I weaved about four different versions of it together, but he didn't know that. He laughed when I told him about the ugly stepsisters because I described them as women we saw nightly. In great detail, I told him about the fairy godmother, the mice, and the chores.

"But I thought pumpkins were for the hollow day."

"Halloween. Yeah, they are, but this fairy godmother used it for a wagon."

"Why?"

"Handy I guess?"

Just as I began to tell him about the ball, the wind blew wisps of his hair against my cheek and I shivered. I knew it wasn't only me affected by our closeness, but neither of us would do anything about it. Not until later or the next day.

"Why midnight?" he asked with yawn.

"I don't know. The magic hour I guess."

"Nothing magic about midnight, just means we survived another day," he complained.

"So the bell rings and Cinderella is running out of there before everything changes and the Prince sees her for what she really is."

"Normal?"

"Exactly," I laughed. "She runs down the steps to the wagon so fast, one of the glass slippers falls off."

He lifted his head. "Wait. I thought you told me slippers were for wearing at bedtime."

"They are."

"Then why did she have them on at a dance?"

"I don't fucking know. She just wore what the fairy godmother gave her." I waited until his head was back on my shoulder before continuing. "So the Prince Charming dude runs after her but he's fucking slow or something, because seriously, what guy can't catch a girl running in heels?"

"I've seen Cherry and Asia run in heels. I could have caught them easily," he reasoned with a shrug.

"Exactly. Not sure why Cinderella wants a slow ass dude like Prince Charming when she could have had someone better."

"Like you," Jasper grinned.

"Like us," I corrected. "Anyway, he finds the shoe but no Cinderella. She had already gotten into the wagon thing."

"The squash wagon," he confirmed.

"Pumpkin," I reminded him.

"Same thing."

"So the next day the Prince dude tries to find out who the mysterious girl was but no one knew. So he goes door to door throughout the kingdom to find the girl whose foot fits the shoe."

"He found her?"

Jasper knew the answer, but he liked to ask anyway to reassure himself.

"Eventually. He went to the stepmother's house, and the ugly stepsisters tried the shoe but their feet were too big. Finally Cinderella tried and it fit perfect. He took her away and they got married and lived…"

"Happily ever after," we said in unison.

"Sounds like a lot of work."

"What does?" I asked, swallowing the last bit of my candy bar.

"Trying to find the girl. She must have been a good fuck. I mean, why not just find another one? No one would ever go through all that trouble to find a one night stand."

"Maybe they would if they loved them," I challenged softly.

"You don't believe that…do you?" he asked curiously.

"In love?"

"Yeah."

I shrugged. I wanted to be honest with him and tell that somewhere deep inside me, I wanted to wish it was possible, but the rest of me knew better. That wasn't the world we lived in. Sighing, I covered his hand on his lap with mine and when he hesitantly turned his palm up, I laced our fingers together. We might have been whores, but we had each other.

"No," I finally answered sadly.

His thumb absently stroked my hand and he leaned closer, his eyes squinting in the rare brightness of the sun sparkling off the water. "Me either," he sighed before his eyes dropped to our clasped hands. "What are you doing?"

"Holding your hand." He looked confused, his brows knitting together as images raced through his mind. "Have you ever held someone's hand before, Jas?" I asked him quietly.

"No one's ever wanted to," he murmured.

I squeezed his hand. "_I_ want to."

"You do?"

"Yeah."

We sat there holding hands until the sun was below the horizon and the sounds of the nightlife on the streets began to call to us. When it was time, I stood and pulled him up.

"Ready?"

He nodded, his eyes still on our hands, gripping tighter than before. Leaning forward, I brushed my lips over his in a light kiss. Moaning, he darted his tongue out to taste me before I pulled away. With a wistful look in his eyes, he turned and I fell into step next to him. In a few hours, we'd be giving head or getting fucked, and I would probably be high. But until then, we had fairy tales and hope to hold on to.

Our hands never let go.

A dull light pierced my closed lids and I groaned. Napped fur was stuck to my dried cheek when I lifted my head from my arm.

Another day.

Standing, I brought Teddy to the bed and placed him on it before going to use the bathroom. Even if I was sleeping on the floor, I was going to enjoy the fact I could piss in private and brush my teeth as often as I wanted. Not bothering to change, I went downstairs, pausing halfway to listen for Peter.

There was no sound coming from the kitchen.

He was in his office.

Nibbling on my lip, I continued down the stairs and turned toward his study. Everything inside it was him. The books, furniture, pictures, even a few trophies, and his scent clung to it all.

He wasn't sitting behind the large desk like I expected. He was standing in front of some doors looking out over the backyard. He knew I was there, I saw his jaw tighten, but he didn't acknowledge me.

Lifting my chin, I spoke. "You don't know what it's like."

He didn't know the need coursing through me was strong enough to bring me to my knees. There was no way for him to know. He'd never used. He'd certainly never been addicted. His soul was complete.

"Don't be so sure of that," he said lowly.

Confused, I tilted my head. I knew Peter hadn't used. Jasper would have known, he would have told me. It was someone else.

"Are you going to leave?"

"No," I answered automatically.

Lying was like breathing, natural and done without effort. Even as I did it, I felt the guilt from the night before seeping into me again. Peter's shoulders slumped in defeat, his head lowered and his hands fisted. He needed to hear the truth as much as I needed to say it.

"I don't know," I said honestly.

He sighed, his body visibly relaxing with the truthful words. He was now armed with what he needed to battle my demons with me. All he wanted was a fair chance in the fight for my battered soul. It was the least I could give him. Still, he was suffering. He wanted to fight my battle with me, but he wasn't going to let me fight his with him.

"I know I'm not him," I murmured. "I know you miss him. I miss him too."

My eyes never left him. Sun glistened off his unwashed hair, wrinkled clothes covered the fit body I'd seen naked the night before, Pacific eyes closed and an unshaven jaw relaxed.

He didn't deny my words.

He might not have wanted me to leave, but it wasn't me he wanted there.

"**~~**"

Thanks for reading~

Remember, Riley is in tough place right now, he's not the happy guy we knew in M&A. Also, I've taken liberties with Seattle, I know they are wrong but I wanted to keep the continuity established with M&A.

Thank you to C for the invaluable talks and advice.

TSAs are back with Round Four. Details are at http:/theslashawards DOT blogspot DOT com/?zx=8d66c90b2d62f52


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